


Security

by Linda R (HowNovel)



Category: Starman (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1995-04-23
Updated: 1995-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:40:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowNovel/pseuds/Linda%20R
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul is a night security guard at a mall. He finds that all is not as quiet as he thought it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Security

SECURITY  
A STARMAN STORY by Linda R.

Copyright April 1995 by Linda R. "Security" is a non-profit, amateur publication written for the enjoyment of STARMAN fans, and is not meant to infringe upon the copyrights held by Henerson-Hirsh and Michael Douglas Productions, Columbia Pictures Television, or ABC-TV.

 

"You've got to be kidding!" Scott's jaw dropped in astonishment. "You got a job as what?"

"As a night security guard at the mall at the south end of town," Paul repeated. "It was either that or as a pearl diver, and I've already done that. Besides, the pay was better, and right now we need the money. The restaurant has a policy of holding back one week's pay, while the security company doesn't."

"But...but...what about a background check?" Scott countered. "Don't they have to do one on everyone in that field?"

His father shrugged. "Not according to the man who interviewed me. I did have to fill out a standard form, and I included the trouble Stella said the real Paul Forrester was in during the Vietnam War. He said a lot of guys our age were in the same boat, and something like that wasn't held against us. I'm not going to be carrying a gun so there won't be any need for a more detailed check, as far as his company is concerned.

"Besides, this is one job Fox would never expect me to take," Paul continued, smiling. "As in that book you had to read, for your English course, The Purloined Letter, what better place to hide than in plain sight? I'll be working third shift, 10:00 to 6:00 so there won't be a lot of people around, just McNulty,-he's the other guard-and the cleaning crew. I'd have preferred either of the other shifts so we could spend more time together, but it will be for only a little while."

"Oh, that part's okay," Scott said, starting to accept the idea of this most unusual job his father had just taken. "Besides, I've got a surprise for you. I've got a job, too. Some college students down the street have started their own business doing yard work during the summer and they're hiring high school students to work for them. We only get minimum wage, but we get the money immediately after each job, and the guys hiring us take care of getting us to the jobs, so I don't have to worry about losing any pay if we have to skip town in a hurry. I have to show up at 7:30 any day I want to work, and finish up by 5:00, so we can still spend time together. I'll be sleeping while you're working, and vice versa. As you said, we do need the money, so I didn't think you'd mind if I took the job without asking you first."

Paul grinned, pleased with his son's initiative.  
  
---  
  
The days settled down into a routine. Paul enjoyed the hours spent wandering through the darkened mall, using it as a way to learn more about the Earth culture around him from the articles offered for sale. It always amazed him that the clothing stores were already selling fall clothes and getting rid of the summer merchandise even though it was still the middle of the season. His favorite part of the job was the time spent outside, checking the delivery doors and keeping an eye on the parking lot, where overnight parking was prohibited.

The few times he saw cars there, it was usually kids necking, and just his approach would send them off to find a more private location than the poorly lit corners of the lot. Most of all, Paul simply enjoyed the cool night air with the stars, especially his home star, twinkling above. Since McNulty made it abundantly clear he preferred staying inside, Paul was more than happy to make patrolling the exterior of the mall the biggest share of his night.

By the time he arrived home each morning, Scott was up and ready for his Job. A quick meal and Scott took off. Paul did the household chores and cleaned up before settling down for his day's sleep. More often than not, when he awoke, he'd find his son asleep in the chair in front of the TV in the living room, exhausted from long hours under the hot summer sun pushing a heavy lawnmower or wielding a rake through stubborn grass. Frequently, Scott found himself to be one of the few workers who'd bothered to show up of the half-dozen who had originally signed on.

One evening about three weeks into their jobs, Paul woke up to find Scott sitting in the chair at the foot of the bed watching him, and rolling his sphere around in his hand.

"Ah, Dad, could we talk? There's something I've been wanting to, um, well, discuss with you."

"Sure, Scott, that's what I'm here for." Paul's eyebrow arched at his son's discomfort.

"Well, only one of the other guys showed up today, and we each got sent off to different jobs that both had to be done before noon," Scott started. "And the lawnmower just wouldn't cooperate. It kept stalling on me and wouldn't run at all sometimes. The spark plug wire had a bad connection so it wouldn't stay put and I got so frustrated, and there wasn't anyone else around, and, well, I got out my sphere and almost used it to make that stupid machine work."

Scott's words started to tumble over themselves. "I know I'm not supposed to do anything like that when you're not around, I'm not good enough with it yet, but it was so hot and I was so mad and, well,..." Scott's voice faded,"...but I didn't. I guess I started thinking you'd be angry with me if I did." He looked at his father, unasked questions in his eyes.

"No, Scott, I wouldn't have been angry if that truly was the only way you felt you could have gotten the job done. But you do know how important I feel it is for you to do things the human way, and not depend on your sphere to solve all your problems for you. And it is most important for you to never use your sphere when you're angry. It is a part of you, and the intense emotion could cause you to misjudge your actions."

Scott relaxed, and slipped the sphere back into his pocket. "I guess that's what I hoped you'd say. After supper could you help me practice a little more before you have to leave for work?"

Paul smiled. "There are some leftovers in the refrigerator we can have. Then we'll see what we can do." It took only a few minutes for Paul to plan the dinner. He started Scott's lesson by having him warm up the food, helping his son learn how to control the energy level so the food did not overheat. Scott cleaned off his plate so fast the food hardly had time to cool, so anxious was he to spend time working on new skills.

After Scott put the dirty dishes in the sink, Paul had him use his sphere to turn the faucets on and fill the sink with water. When the dishes were clean and in the strainer, Scott then dried them with gently warmed air. The hot soapy water really bothered the cuts and blisters on Scott's hands, so his father had him heal the sores. By the time Paul had to leave for his job, both he and his son were pleased with how much more comfortable and in control Scott was with his sphere.  
  
---  
  
After Paul had left for work, Scott was too keyed up to sleep from the excitement he always felt from his lessons with the sphere. He wandered around their little apartment, picking up his things and putting away the supper dishes. From the living room window he could see the sign for the all-night grocery store. Scott grinned as an idea came to him. "Wouldn't Grandma Stella's pancakes be a nice surprise for Dad tomorrow," he said to himself, pleased with the thought. "I can't remember the last time we had them."

Grabbing his key, he headed down the stairs and out the front door, making sure to lock it behind him. The neighborhood wasn't known for being the safest in town, but it was all they were able to afford. His footsteps echoed in the stillness. No one else seemed to be out.

The only other customer in the store while he made his purchases was Mrs. Parsons, the old lady who lived on the first floor of their building. She was putting a small prescription vial in her handbag. Scott was only half-aware of her leaving as he made his way down the dairy aisle. He paid for his purchases with the money he'd earned that day, glad he was able to pay for the food with his own earnings

Softly whistling to himself, Scott headed back to the apartment. Half-way up the block, he could see the lone figure of his neighbor slowly making her way home, the sound of her cane making a third footstep in her gait. As Mrs. Parsons passed the alley next to their building, a figure lunged out of the shadows, grabbed for her pocketbook and tried to pull it out of the crook of her arm.

Scott saw the frail figure drop her cane and try to clutch her purse closer to herself, turning away to protect herself from the thief's blows as he successfully fought to take his prize. Shoving his victim to the ground, he took off down the street.

Dropping his bag, Scott chased after the mugger. He ran as he'd never run before, all his work on the track field adding to his natural speed. He caught up with the assailant at the corner and tackled him, dragging him to the ground. In the dim glow of the streetlight, Scott recognized him as one of the boys he'd worked with occasionally, one who was always complaining about how hard the work was. In his surprise, he released his grip on the boy, who pushed Scott off him and scrambled down the street, leaving the purse behind where he'd dropped it when he fell.

Scott picked up the pocketbook, scooped its spilled contents back inside, and started back to Mrs. Parsons. She was still sitting where she'd fallen, face contorted in pain. When she saw Scott she cried out and pulled herself back further into the shadow of the building, afraid the mugger was coming back to hurt her again.

"Mrs. Parsons, it's me, Scott Hayden from upstairs. It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you. See, I got your things back. I'll help you get inside." Gently, Scott bent over the trembling woman.

Emma Parsons looked up and recognized the boy from the third floor. Relief replaced the fear in her eyes. "I...I thought it was him again. I don't carry my money with me anymore and was afraid he'd come back to steal my wedding ring. It's all I have left." Her fingers twisted at the worn gold band on her left hand. Gratefully she reached for the purse in Scott's hand, then tried to stand up. With a cry of pain she fell back against the wall. "My leg! It hurts! I can't get up!" She looked up at Scott. "Help me, please."

Using the new strength from all the physical work he'd been doing that summer, Scott picked up the fragile woman and carried her to the top of their apartment building steps. He dashed back to where his grocery bag was laying and salvaged what he could from among the splattered eggs. Using Mrs. Parson's cane to prop the front door open, Scott took her proffered key and unlocked her first floor apartment door. He gently laid her on the couch before rescuing the remains of his groceries from the stoop and placing them inside the apartment doorway.

"I've got to call an ambulance," Scott explained over his shoulder as he made his way towards the hall phone. "We have to make sure only your leg was hurt. The way that mugger was beating on you, he could have done a lot more damage."

"No, you can't." Emma protested, struggling to sit more upright. Just that little exertion seemed to take her breath away. "I don't have any money to pay for an ambulance or a hospital or anything. It's all I can do to afford my rent and food, and the medicines I have to take. I'll be okay; I just need to get some bandages on my leg to stop the bleeding. Please, that's all I need. I'm sure I'll be all right after a good night's sleep."

From the bruises that were starting to darken on the old woman's face and arms, Scott was afraid there were more injuries, but he couldn't force the pleading woman to go to the hospital if she didn't want to. "If that's what you want, I won't call the ambulance right now. But I will stay with you as long as necessary to make sure you're okay. If you start getting worse, then I will have to get help." As he cleaned the blood off her leg, Scott noticed her knee was starting to swell. He propped her leg up on a pillow, and covered her with an old, worn afghan he found on the foot of her bed.

"My mother made that for me when I was just a slip of a thing, many years ago," Emma Parsons said as she pulled it up around her and drifted off into a sleep that didn't seem to Scott to be a good, healing sleep. "Don't you worry, boy. I'll be fine now. My mother put all her love into this when she made it, and she'd never let anything bad happen to me."

Scott slipped his sphere out of his pocket, and stared at it. He'd used it before to heal his father's black eye, and some cuts and bruises he'd gotten that summer from rocks thrown up at him by the lawnmower. Did he dare use it now? He suspected Mrs. Parsons had suffered some bruised or maybe broken ribs when she'd fallen, and who knew what other internal injuries. She had been adamant about the hospital. Maybe if he just used it a little, enough to ease her pain until she could heal by herself.

Gingerly he knelt by the couch and activated the sphere. Its soothing blue light flooded the room. Scott concentrated, remembering the first aid training he'd had in school. "Just her leg," he told himself, "and around her ribs. And of course her face. Don't do anything that might harm her; keep the energy level in tight control," he kept reminding himself. As the light faded, he settled down in the overstuffed armchair across from the couch and spent the night watching his patient sleep until he drifted off himself just before dawn.  
  
---  
  
"Good morning, laddie," a hearty voice woke Scott the next morning. "I told you all I needed was a bandage for my leg and a good night's sleep. I haven't felt this good since, well, I'd like to say I was 20, but I'd have to admit, since 20 years ago more likely. I don't know how, but that fall must have shaken up this old body and got it going again, like a visit to my old chiropractor used to."

Scott opened his eyes to a room full of sunshine, and not just from the open curtains. The frail old lady from the night before was smiling down at him, only now she looked the picture of health. 'Oh no, what have I done?' he thought to himself as he watched her move about the room easily, not even using her cane. 'I hope Dad gets home real soon so I can tell him what happened and have him meet Mrs. Parsons himself. Maybe he can explain to me exactly what I did.' Scott gulped.

"How would you like some of the special potato pancakes my mother used to make in the old country? I'm so hungry I could eat a horse. And to think last night you wanted to call me an ambulance," the cheery voice continued from the kitchen.  
  
---  
  
Scott's questions were going to have to wait much longer than he'd imagined. About an hour before the end of Paul's shift, his pager had gone off, letting him know that his boss needed to get in touch with him. Paul used the phone in the mall's main office.

"Sorry to do this to you at the end of a long night, but I'm going to have to ask you to stay a couple of hours extra today," John Michaels began. "One of the guards from the day shift was in an accident about 30 minutes ago, and we don't know how much longer he's going to be. The bank branch at the mall is getting a large delivery of cash this morning and we need all the security officers available to stand by. It'll be some time before the mall opens, so you'll only have to stay until the transfer is made."

"That'll be no problem, Mr. Michaels," Paul answered. "I can stay as long as you want me to. I hope no one was hurt in the accident. Oh, one thing; I'll need to call my son in a little while and let him know I'm going to be late. He'll be getting up soon to get ready for his job, and I don't want him to worry since I've never been late before." He knew Scott was still concerned about the possibility of a security check that would tip Fox off to their location.

"I'll call him for you, Forrester. We don't know the exact time the armored car will be arriving, and we need you to stay by the bank entrance area until it does," his boss replied. "For security's sake, even we don't know the exact time. I've got your phone number in your file. As for the accident, from what the police say, no one was hurt, just shaken up a bit. It seems Adams pulled out of a side street in front of a car he says he thought was turning in. An officer on foot patrol saw the whole thing, and reported Adams was acting real nervous about the incident. They're keeping him at the station while they run a check on him for outstanding warrants or the like."

Paul glanced at the wall clock over the desk. It was only 5:15. Scott usually set the alarm for 6:00, as he informed Michaels before heading to his new station.

The phone call to Forrester's apartment at 6:00 got no response. "Boy, I thought my kids were heavy sleepers," Michaels chuckled to himself. "I'll just have to try again in a little while."  
  
---  
  
The bank manager was the first person Paul let in, just before 7:00. She'd arrived early to start the paperwork before the money arrived, some time before the bank drive-up window opened at 8:00. The mall was having its annual mid-summer sale, with its usual heavy cash demands from the shopkeepers. There were only a few employees cars in the lot when the armored car arrived less than half an hour later. Paul moved over to the front doors to open them for the van's armed security guard as soon as he saw the driver open his door. The second armed guard was inside the van itself with the money.

Just as the driver reached the doors, a masked man stepped out from the side of the building. Before the driver realized what was happening and could pull his weapon, the robber pistol-whipped him with the butt of the gun he was carrying. Just then the door opened and the second guard appeared, to be met by a bullet in the chest from a second masked man. He fell back onto a pile of currency bags. The split-second timing of the bank robbers seemed to leave nothing to chance, except for Paul's unexpected appearance in the doorway.

Realizing he could do nothing to stop the thieves, Paul turned to yell to the bank manager to lock the doors and hide, only to find himself face to face with his co-worker, McNulty, pointing a handgun at him. As Paul recoiled, a shot rang out, and only his enhanced reflexes saved Paul from receiving the full force of the bullet. It glanced off the side of his skull, knocking Paul to the floor. The last thing he remembered as the world around him darkened was being dragged outside and thrown into the armored car next to the still forms of the two security guards.  
  
---  
  
The bumping of van along the rutted back road brought Paul back to pain-filled consciousness. He forced open his eyes and with supreme effort tried to sit up as waves of nausea swept over him. The wound on the side of his head opened again and started bleeding anew. Weakly, slowly, Paul reached into his pocket for his sphere. That simple action used all the strength he had at the moment, and it took several more minutes before he was able to activate the blue light and heal his wound.

His energy restored, Paul examined the two men lying next to him. Both were still alive, but barely. The driver had a fractured skull and Paul could sense bleeding and swelling in the brain itself, causing what could be fatal pressure. Paul stopped the bleeding and helped the body increase its natural ability to drain the excess fluids away. The shattered pieces of the bone he fused back together.

The second guard lay in a pool of blood. The bullet had glanced off his breastbone and nicked the top lobe of a lung, missing the heart by inches before exiting through his shoulder. His breathing was becoming labored and shallow. Paul stopped the bleeding, cleared the fluid from his lungs, and melded the sides of the wounded tissue together as natural healing would, only much faster. Both men were still unconscious, and suffering from loss of blood, but they would live...if they could escape from their rolling prison.  
  
---  
  
Scott finished his last potato pancake, and drained the milk from his glass. "Mrs. Parsons, that was fantastic, but I do have to get back upstairs and get ready for work. Besides, my dad should be home from work any time now, and he'll be wondering where I am." Glancing over his shoulder at the kitchen clock, Scott was surprised to see it was after 7:30. "Look at the time! Dad's sure to be home by now. I've got to go, really I do." Scott carried his dirty dishes to the sink, before stooping to collect a kiss on his cheek from the grateful cook.

"Now don't you forget to tell that father of yours I want to have you both over for supper soon. I owe you so much for helping me last night and staying here to make sure I was all right. Oh, I can't remember when I felt like making more than a cup of tea for company," Emma rattled on, reluctant to let her guest leave.

Scott edged his way toward the door. "Don't worry, ma'am. You can't imagine how much I want my dad to meet you too. I'll stop over after work today to let you know what he says. Bye, now. Good-bye."

Bounding up the stairs, Scott pulled his key from his shirt pocket, sticking it in the keyhole before coming to a complete stop. "Hey, Dad, I'm home. You wouldn't believe what happened to me last...night...." His voice faded as he realized the apartment was empty. A quick check revealed no note on the kitchen table, their usual place for leaving messages. Puzzled, Scott decided to give his father's boss a call before he jumped in the shower. Maybe he had to work late, and tried to call him? A phone call to Mr. Michaels would clear that up. Or maybe he just stopped off at the store by his bus stop, the worried boy tried to convince himself.

Footsteps coming down the hallway caught Scott's ear. He threw open the door, expecting to see his father, but instead a uniformed police officer was standing there, arm raised as he was about to knock. Scott fully expected to see George Fox appear behind the cop. He jumped back in surprise, adrenaline racing as he looked for the nearest escape route.

"Scott Hayden?" was more a statement than a question. "Mr. Michaels asked me to bring you over to the security firm's office. He'd like to talk to you."

"The office? I don't understand. Has...has something happened to my dad?" Scott's fear was replaced by concern for his father.

"I'm sorry, son. There's been an armored car robbery at the mall where your father works. That's all I know. Now if you'll come with me, your father's boss should have more details by the time we get there." The officer stepped aside for Scott.

Not even the wail of the police siren could cover the jumble of thoughts and fears going around in the frantic boy's mind.  
  
---  
  
"I'm sorry, Scott, that's all I can tell you right now," Michaels finished. "The bank manager heard the gunshot and saw someone drag your father into the armored car. It took off towards the highway, possibly headed for the state line. So far, that's the last anyone's seen of it. We are following up some leads the police have, but there's nothing definite yet."

Outside the front window, Scott could see TV cameras and several reporters. A new fear added to his terror. "Ah, Mr. Michaels, how much information have you released to the press yet? Like, have you released the guards' names and pictures and stuff? And my dad's? I don't want to sound paranoid or anything, but I've seen some news stories that get the facts all messed up early on and make things worse. And maybe all the news coverage will make the robbers more desperate."

"Don't worry, Scott. We know what we're doing," Michaels tried to reassure the frantic boy."We've only released the basics; no names, no pictures. There's always the possibility of a ransom demand, and we haven't had a chance to notify the other guards' families."

At least Scott could take some comfort that Fox still didn't know.  
  
---  
  
Paul could sense the van slowing down, then making a sharp turn. He was still weak from the loss of blood, but there was no pain to hinder his thinking. His sphere still in his hand, Paul had been trying to plan how he could help get the guards to safety without the robbers seeing them, especially without using the sphere. As he was trying to solve this problem, the van came to a complete stop, and Paul could hear car doors opening and closing. Voices of at least two or three different men, from what he could determine, could be heard. The pitch rose, and it sounded like arguing. One voice, which sounded like McNulty's, could be heard the most clearly.

"I told you not to do anything stupid so close to the heist, you fool. When Forrester told me you'd been in an accident and were at the police station, I thought I was going to pop a blood vessel. You could've jeopardized the whole plan."

"Well, I didn't, did I?" came the reply. "The cops let me go after the broad said she wouldn't file a complaint as long as I paid for her car. How was I supposed to know she'd changed her mind about what lane she wanted? So, it all went according to plan, and I'm here now. Besides, what's another body to dump, more or less?"

"Yeah, I was thinking, Mac," came a third voice, closer to the side of the van. "You were right. With this Forrester fellow, it does make it better for you. The cops will just think both of you were grabbed. It'll throw them off our trail but good."

The voices became fainter, and then Paul could hear what sounded like a car door again. There was no more time for thinking; he had to act. He moved over to the door, and slowly opened it. No one was around. Quietly, he slid out the door, closed it after him, and slipped under the van as the voices came closer. The comment about the police had given him an idea. It'd worked once, why not a second time. He could see the feet of four men approaching the van. It was now or never.

"This is the police," a voice boomed from above. "Drop your weapons; we've got you covered." At the end of the dirt road a police cruiser seemed to appear, then a second, stopping, and blocking the way.

"Grab the guards," McNulty yelled. "We can use them for hostages." But Paul had been careful to close the security van's door tight and lock it. It could be opened only from the inside now. The unconscious guards would be safe as long the thieves didn't try to blast the door with their guns.

"It's locked," cried the second voice.

"Shoot the damn thing open if you have to," came McNulty's reply, accompanied by the sound of guns being chambered. Suddenly from overhead came a sound Paul thought he'd never want to hear again—a police helicopter and a voice over the loudspeaker ordering the men to stop and throw down their weapons. The two holographic police cars vanished, to be replaced by several of the real thing. As the cruisers approached, three of the bank robbers did as they were told, dropping their weapons and raising their hands. But not McNulty. He turned and ran for the woods by the road.

Paul rolled out from under the van, and took off after him. Before McNulty could make it to the protection of the trees, Paul caught up with him and tackled him to the ground. The sawed-off shotgun he was carrying flew away from his hands and landed out of his reach. Before the ringleader had a chance to dislodge an exhausted Paul and find his weapon, two state troopers had arrived and were able to handcuff him. With some assistance, Paul shakily rose to his feet and made his way over to the waiting rescuers. To his surprise, the doors to the van were open, and the security guards were being helped onto stretchers. Accompanying the police was the head of the armored car company, with the key to the locks. Paul refused the offer of a trip to the hospital, asking instead to be taken to his son   
  
---  
  
"And because of Adams' behavior at the accident, the police got suspicious and ran a 'wants and warrants' on him." Michaels explained to the reunited father and son back in their apartment. "When the computer kicked up that he'd worked at two other malls that'd had bank robberies, they decided to put a tail on him. He led us right to where they'd planned to drop off the van after cleaning out the loot, and where their getaway cars were stashed.

It seems the agency supplying us with the mall's security guards wasn't being too careful checking on their potential employees and McNulty and his cohorts were taking advantage of that. There's been talk of new legislation requiring full background checks, and after today, I'm sure there won't be any problems passing it." Michaels stood up and adjusted his cap. "I'm sorry you've decided not to stay with us, Forrester; that was a brave thing you did today. We'd be proud to have you continue on, but I guess I can't blame you, either. You do have a son to think of."

"Thank you, Mr. Michaels. I appreciate the offer, but it's time for us to get back on the road. As I explained during my interview, we've got a long search ahead of us, looking for Scott's mother. Now we know she's not in this area, there's no reason for us to stay."

After the door closed behind Michaels, Scott added. "Yeah, and once the footage those cameramen were taking hits the air, Fox will know exactly where we are. Mom will, too," he added sadly, "but at least she'll know we're together and all right." His father's only answer was a long, loving hug.

THE END


End file.
